The Tiger and the Dragon
by George deValier
Summary: Human AU. Awkward, average chef Yao Wang is sick of being thought of as boring and predictable. When he meets the enigmatic and slightly unnerving Ivan Braginski, Yao is immediately captivated. As he falls deeper it becomes apparent just how dangerous Ivan really is… but Ivan is just as smitten, and Yao may be too in love to care about the consequences…
1. Chapter 1

_Pairing: Ivan Braginski/Yao Wang (Russia/China)_

_Summary: Human AU. Awkward, average chef Yao Wang is sick of being thought of as boring and predictable. When he meets the enigmatic and slightly unnerving Ivan Braginski, Yao is immediately captivated. As he falls deeper it becomes apparent just how dangerous Ivan really is… but Ivan is just as smitten, and Yao may be too in love to care about the consequences…_

* * *

_February, 2010  
A city in America_

.

"Yao, honestly, would you lighten up? You've barely said a word all night!" Arthur snatched a red paper streamer from a passing vendor, scrunched it into a ball, and tossed it at Yao's head. Yao attempted, unsuccessfully, to catch it before it hit him.

"It's called fatigue," Yao grumbled irritably. "I haven't had a day off in two weeks." He fumbled for the red paper ball and tossed it back at Arthur. Alfred neatly intercepted it then unravelled it, placed it over Yao's neck, and tied it into a neat little bow. Yao stopped and glared at the too-cheerful American.

"Yao, you have to celebrate!" Alfred grinned down brightly.

"Why?" Yao asked through gritted teeth.

"Because it's Chinese New Year! It is a time for your people to gather, dress as giant dragons, consume fortune cookies, and purchase tacky little Buddha statues!"

Yao continued to glare blankly. He did not know which was more astounding - Alfred's wilful ignorance, or the fact that after all these years, it still managed to surprise him.

"Alfred, you are an _imbecile,_" said Francis disdainfully, swatting Alfred over the back of the head.

"What?" asked Alfred indignantly, rubbing his head as Arthur just laughed. The four young men continued walking down the busy, colourful inner-city street, passing energetic performers, crowds of onlookers, and endless rows of bright market stalls. A swarming, yelling, cheering mass filled the streets of Chinatown, and Yao could feel a headache developing. He had not ventured out for Chinese New Year in a very long time, and now he remembered why. He never did do well with crowds. He grimaced in annoyance as a loud group of men suddenly pushed through them and nearly knocked him over.

"Watch where you're going you bastards!" shouted Arthur. One of the men flipped them his middle finger and Alfred had to wearily restrain Arthur from chasing after him. It was the third time Arthur had tried to start a fight all evening. "Wankers!" Arthur finally gave up and fell back into step with the others, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it swiftly.

Yao sighed in exasperation. This was all far too much hassle. "Guys, seriously, why did you make me come out here? We could have just had a few drinks back at my apartment."

"You never want to go anywhere lately," whined Francis. "You're becoming a complete shut-in. Not to mention a bore, _mon cher_." Francis took a swig from a bottle concealed in a paper bag and offered it to Yao. Yao took it and drank - maybe it would get rid of his headache.

"That's not true." Yao coughed slightly. He never was a big drinker; even a few sips of strong wine were enough to burn his throat. "We just went out like last week, remember? That big party at the Beilschmidt's place."

"That was a _Christmas_ party," said Arthur, reaching insistently for the wine bottle. "A rather early Christmas party, if I remember correctly."

Yao took a few more gulps before handing the bottle over. "Fine, so it's been a few, er, months. So? You know how busy I get at the restaurant."

"Oh, for the days when our Yao was the life of the party," said Alfred, sighing loudly and shaking his head melodramatically.

"What days were those?" asked Arthur before taking a large gulp of wine. "I never remember our Yao being the life of the party."

Alfred shrugged. "Well, at least we could drag him out of the house."

"Um, guys, I'm not dead," snapped Yao. "I've just been busy lately, aru." He immediately swore under his breath, annoyed that his friends had got an 'aru' out of him. An old nervous habit, Yao only came out with it these days when either very angry, irritated, or nervous.

"Oh please," said Francis flippantly. "You are making excuses. I work the same hours as you at the restaurant."

"You see?" said Alfred, waving his hand. "And Francis hasn't turned into a predictable, boring old man!"

Yao scowled. "I hate it when you call me an old man. And I'm not that predictable." He quickly tried to remember the last change to his routine. "Uh... only the other night I stayed up until two a.m."

Alfred whistled then shouted, "Two a.m, look out, he's a wild one!" He immediately ducked as Francis aimed another swipe at his head.

"Really?" asked Arthur, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "What were you doing?"

"I was… rearranging my shoes." The others stared blankly as Yao tried to explain. "I couldn't sleep, and they were messing up my closet, and…" Yao trailed into a mumble. He felt slightly embarrassed, but the feeling was quickly drowned by indignant anger. Fine, so he'd been a little antisocial lately. That was no reason to attack him! "What the hell is it to you if I want to stay home and organise my wardrobe anyway?" Yao shouted. "I don't have an obligation to go out with you anytime you want, you know!"

Alfred and Arthur looked faintly amused at Yao's outburst, but Francis tilted his head apologetically. "Oh, forget this, _mon cher._ We are here to have fun, no? Here, have a Buddha statue." Francis stopped in front of a stall, picked up a small figurine, and threw it to Yao. Yao was surprised when he managed to catch it. "It may bring you luck." Francis winked before turning to pay the stall owner.

Yao seethed silently as they came to a stop on the street. He knew he should be used to his friends' teasing by now, but he was still annoyed - not least because he knew they were kind of right. Sure, Yao worked long hours. Sure, he was a perfectionist when it came to his work. And sure, he had chosen a competitive business and strived to be the best. But maybe that was all just an excuse. Maybe Yao really was as everyone saw him - tedious, boring, and predictable.

"Red streamer neckties, little Buddha statues… you're getting into the spirit of the New Year after all." Alfred grinned widely. Yao restrained himself from kicking Alfred's foot.

"Is there an off-licence around here somewhere?" asked Arthur, waving the now-empty bottle as Francis rejoined them. "I finished your wine."

Francis' face twisted in disgust. "_Merde_, who gave you that?"

Arthur straightened up confrontationally. "Whad'ya mean by that?"

Francis put his hands on his hips and met Arthur's stare. "I mean, _ros-bif_, that it is never a good idea to hand you a full bottle, for it will invariably be empty before you hand it back."

"Sod off, Frog, this French piss tastes like vinegar anyway." Arthur exhaled a stream of smoke in Francis' direction.

Alfred looked confused. "What the hell is an off-licence?"

Arthur scoffed and flicked his cigarette butt to the ground. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot you only speak Dumb American."

Alfred folded his arms huffily. "You expect me to keep up with your insane British names for everything? Why can't you talk normal?"

Yao took a few short steps away from the group and looked down at the tiny Buddha in his hand. Years of practice had enabled him to tune out the sound of his friends bickering, so all he heard was the noise of the crowd buzzing in his ears. He turned the small brown figurine over in his hand, contemplating the previous conversation. Yao was utterly sick of being thought of as boring, predictable, old man Yao Wang. It was infuriating. It was insulting. And it wasn't who he really was. Yao squeezed the lucky Buddha and slowly came to a decision. Starting right this moment, he wasn't going to be old man Yao Wang anymore. This was the New Year, after all. It was time for a new beginning. It was time for his luck to change. Yao nodded decisively, put the figurine in his pocket, then immediately jumped when he heard an unfamiliar voice right behind him.

"Hello."

Yao spun around. The first thing that struck him was the man's size. His chest and shoulders were massive, and Yao almost had to strain his neck to look up into the man's smiling, interestingly handsome face. The next thing that struck him was the man's eyes - cold, piercing, and the strangest shade of violet. The third thing that struck Yao was that he was frozen still, staring dumbly up at a stranger in the street and gawking like an idiot. He quickly cleared his throat. "Um, hi."

"You are very beautiful. Can I buy you a drink?"

Yao paused, feeling a little thrown. Well, this was unusual. The man's voice was heavily accented, most likely Russian. He was dressed immaculately in a boot-length trench coat, slightly open to reveal a black suit and a pale scarf around his neck. His presence was overwhelming. Yao opened his mouth but did not know what to say. The man just smiled down at him, those violet eyes stared through him, and Yao felt some reckless part of himself grasp at what seemed a perfect opportunity. "Okay." Yao turned to his friends to find them all staring at the stranger warily. He smiled smugly. "I'll be back soon, this strange Russian man is going to buy me a drink."

Arthur, Alfred and Francis stared at Yao with open mouths and raised eyebrows. "You're not bloody serious," said Arthur.

Yao shrugged nonchalantly, enjoying the shock of his friends. Now who was being boring? "Hey, it's still early." He grinned. "I'm being unpredictable."

Alfred abruptly grabbed Yao by the arm and dragged him a few metres from the stranger. "Are you crazy?" he hissed. "Accepting drinks from Russians in trench coats isn't unpredictable - well okay it is, but it's also insane!"

Yao narrowed his eyes, muttering quietly so he wasn't overheard. "Don't be ridiculous, Alfred, it's just a drink."

"Yeah," snorted Arthur, "Francis does it all the time."

"And if Yao doesn't go, I will," said Francis, gazing appreciatively at the Russian. "He's hot."

"I _am_ going," said Yao insistently, shaking his arm free and backing away. He gave a tiny wave. "Bye guys!"

"Wait!"

Yao stopped at the frantic tone of Alfred's voice. "What?"

Alfred looked almost panicked. "Do you have a can of mace?"

Yao raised his eyebrows, rolled his eyes, and turned back to the still-smiling stranger. The Russian had simply waited patiently during the entire whispered conversation. Yao looked up at him, heart thumping in his chest, and smiled back. "So. Where are you taking me?"

* * *

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

A short walk, a turn down a side street, and a cold dose of reality later, Yao started to wonder if it was the wine that had made him make such an uncharacteristic decision. He certainly did not feel as confident as he had a moment ago. He glanced up at the huge man walking beside him, only to find the man staring straight back. Yao quickly looked away.

"Do you know, there is paper on your neck." That thick Russian accent was brightly cheerful, yet sent a strange shudder down Yao's spine.

"Oh." Yao felt his cheeks turn red as he reached up and ripped the forgotten streamer from his neck. "I forgot about that. My friend put it there."

The Russian suddenly stopped in the middle of the street, ignoring the crowd that surged around him, and extended a hand to Yao. "My name is Ivan." He pronounced it the Russian way.

"Oh," repeated Yao. He crumpled the streamer and dropped it before taking Ivan's hand. It was much larger than his own, and surprisingly gentle. "I'm Yao."

Ivan's smile never faltered. "Pleased to meet you, Yao! My bar is behind you."

"Oh." Yao nearly kicked himself. Could he say anything else? He turned to find a dark doorway cut into the street wall behind him. If he hadn't known it was there he would probably have missed it. "Your bar, you say."

"_Da_, my bar." Ivan took Yao's arm and steered him easily through the crowd. "Shall we?" Yao did not feel he had a choice.

Yao followed Ivan through a dark, narrow hallway that led into a small, even darker room. Ivan hung his trench coat on a gilded coat-rack then pulled out a stool at the bar, smiling at Yao with a look that tied his stomach in knots and sent waves of heat through his veins. Yao tore his eyes from that gaze and sat down warily, glancing around the room. Despite its size, the relatively small bar was lavishly decorated. A circle of dark red couches in the centre; gold and red draped lamps, both standing and hanging; imposing busts of eagles in each corner. The tall wooden bar stools were intricately carved and the long liquor shelf against the wall was impressively stocked. Yao looked from the ornate decorations to Ivan in his expensive-looking suit, then down at himself. He couldn't help feeling underdressed in his jeans and sneakers and Transformers t-shirt. At least his long hair was neatly tied back.

"What are you thinking of my bar?" asked Ivan, taking a seat close beside Yao and resting his arm on the bar.

"Oh, it's… well, it's…" _It's dark and creepy and there's one exit and I feel like I'm in a gangster movie and oh God you actually do kind of look like a gangster... _"It's nice."

Ivan looked pleased at Yao's answer. "Ah, is not much, but is convenient."

_Convenient. Convenient for what?_ Yao's mind immediately ran away from him again, conjuring up images of smoky trysts and back room deals. He found himself wondering what sort of man would run a bar like this - what sort of man he had just recklessly accepted a drink invitation from. Yao didn't do this sort of thing. He didn't know _how_ to do this sort of thing. "So, this is what you do? You run a bar?"

"Well, yes, but this is just small part of my operations."

"Your… operations? Um… what would…" Yao trailed off, realising at this point that some part of his brain had shut down and he was incapable of thinking of a single thing to say. He sat there, silent, cheeks burning, as Ivan just smiled politely as though expecting him to go on. Right when Yao was on the verge of either running for his life or passing out, a voice spoke beside him.

"Can I get you a drink, sir?"

Yao nearly hugged the bartender in relief for the interruption. Instead, he turned to him and smiled politely. "Could I get a Coke, please?" He suddenly wasn't sure drinking was a good idea.

The young bartender raised one eyebrow. "No."

Yao bit his lip uncertainly. "Okay. Um. Pepsi?"

The bartender gave an almost imperceptible smirk and again replied, "No." Ivan laughed softly.

"Oh." Yao surveyed the myriad multicoloured bottles lined against the wall, searching for the least alcoholic among them. "I'll have a glass of wine, then. Please."

The bartender looked at Yao blankly for a few moments before prompting, "Red or white?"

Oh God. This was too much pressure. Yao felt far too conspicuous, Ivan's gaze burning into him while the bartender looked rather amused. He didn't know how to answer, and it was just a simple question, and now he'd taken too long, and…

"The Rkatsiteli is excellent," said Ivan, observing Yao with a mixture of amusement and fascination.

Yao nodded in relief. "Okay. Sure." _Whatever that is. _"I'll have a rak... rakats... er, a glass of that." Then again, maybe a few drinks for confidence wasn't such a bad idea after all.

The bartender nodded and busied himself preparing the drinks. He was very good looking, with shoulder-length brown hair and large sad eyes. Yao thanked him as he placed a large wine glass on the bar. The brunet just nodded again before placing a bottle of vodka and a glass in front of Ivan – he looked a little scared of the Russian, which didn't do anything for Yao's nerves.

_"Spasiba,_ Toris." Ivan poured the vodka into the glass and raised it to Yao. _"Za vas,"_ he said, shooting back the glass and immediately pouring another.

Yao had no idea what that meant, so he simply nodded in reply and hoped it wasn't impolite. "Is your bar always this quiet?" he asked after taking a very long sip of wine. It was a strangely heavy taste, instantly warming him from the inside.

"My bar is very select. It is, how you say, invitation only. And tonight you are only guest, Yao." Ivan smiled behind the glass against his lips.

"Ah. Great." Yao finished half the wine in one gulp, feeling it rush straight to his head in a dizzying wave. "The wine's good."

"This is from my private reserve. Is Russian. Best wine in the world, Russian."

Yao wondered what Francis would think of that. Then he wondered what Francis would do in this situation. Then he felt his cheeks burn again, and quickly changed the subject. "So, um, what _do_ you do, if this is only part of your operations?"

"I am a businessman." Ivan easily finished another glass of vodka, his direct gaze never moving from Yao's face.

"A legitimate one?" Yao muttered before he could stop himself.

Ivan blinked in confusion. "I am sorry?"

"Nothing," said Yao quickly, a flush of fear running down his neck. He was not even sure why he asked that. He hurriedly moved on. "That's very interesting. I'm a chef."

"A chef?" Ivan's eyebrows rose and fell quickly. "Yes, you look like you are good with your hands."

Yao again found himself with nothing to say, so he took another gulp of wine instead. He was not exactly used to handsome strangers calling him beautiful and inviting him for a drink at a private bar. He was not exactly sure of the correct etiquette for such a situation. He decided to make the best of it and tried to smile confidently - he wasn't sure he pulled it off. "So, why did you want to buy me a drink, Ivan?"

"Hmm. How do you say." Ivan's eyes flashed and his chin rose. "Because I want to sleep with you."

Yao froze, his eyes wide and his glass halfway to his lips. It took him a few moments to realise he had heard Ivan correctly. When he did, he was hit by a wave of hot, confused nerves and oddly thrilled shock. Yao blamed the feeling on the wine, and forced himself to think clearly: if that was all Ivan was after, it would be best to go now. Yao placed his glass down and stood, but before he could take a step, he felt his hand seized.

"Wait. Do not go."

Yao peered down at Ivan suspiciously. Ivan's grip on his hand was so much stronger than his handshake from earlier. This had to be a bad idea - but why did that look in Ivan's eyes make Yao's determination start to dissolve?

Ivan bowed his head apologetically. "My English, is not the best." He looked up imploringly, his light blond hair falling across his forehead. He managed to look both seductive and innocent at the same time. "Do you speak Russian?"

Yao felt his breath start to quicken, but fought to keep his expression impassive. "Do you speak Chinese?"

Ivan smiled cheerfully. _"Ni Hao!"_

Yao raised an eyebrow. _"Dasvedanya."_ He turned to leave, but Ivan did not let go of his hand.

"Please. What I mean to say was… I would like to get to know you, _da?"_

_Don't turn around, don't turn around, don't turn around._ Yao sighed. As though he had a choice. He turned around and sat down, much to Ivan's apparent delight. The Russian smiled delightedly as Yao reached for his wine glass and quickly finished it. Why did Yao get the feeling this could be the best or the worst decision he would ever make? "You'd like to get to know me," Yao repeated, a little incredulous.

Ivan sat back slowly, seemingly satisfied that Yao would stay where he was. "Of course."

"Why?" Another wine glass appeared on the bar as though from nowhere. Yao practically dove for it.

"I tell you before. You are very beautiful."

Yao turned red and laughed dismissively. These silly words should not have this effect on him. "Most men don't go up to strangers on the street and call them beautiful."

Ivan shrugged one massive shoulder. "I am not most men."

Yao had the feeling that was an understatement. "You don't say," he muttered around his wine glass.

Even as Ivan leant casually against the bar and twirled his vodka glass between his fingers, he somehow maintained an air of power behind that ever-present smile. Yao really started to wonder what he was getting into here. "You speak Chinese, Yao?"

"Mandarin, yes."

"You were born there?"

Yao nodded. "In Beijing. My father is Chinese. My mother is from Japan, which is where my brother was born." Yao did not like to talk about his parents. They were not an important part of his life. "My family travelled a lot. But we moved to America years ago. Then my parents broke up, Mum moved back to Japan, Dad went home to China, and now it's just me and Kiku."

"He is your brother?" Ivan looked politely interested as he asked. Yao just felt embarrassed that he had said too much.

"Yes." Yao took another sip of wine. He was not used to speaking about himself; not used to someone interested in hearing about himself. But Ivan watched him fixedly with unwavering violet eyes, listening to every word. Yao tried to turn the conversation around. "And you speak Russian, I imagine."

Ivan let out a short breath of laughter. "Much better than I speak English."

"You speak English very well," said Yao politely.

Ivan placed a hand to his chest and inclined his head slightly, a gratified smile on his lips. "Thank you, Yao. This is very big compliment."

Yao's lips twitched in a tiny smile and his heart jumped a little. He'd gone from feeling slightly insulted to strangely flattered to utterly charmed in the space of five minutes.

It did not take long for Ivan to put Yao at ease. But that may also have been the wine. Yao remembered reading somewhere that in Russia it was polite to match your host drink for drink. He quickly realised this was going to be impossible, but was regardless putting up a valiant effort. Ivan had an undeniably charming manner about him, even as he remained rather imposing. Yao quickly found himself fascinated by that alluring accent. But Ivan continually avoided the subject of his work, until Yao became intensely curious about what the man actually did. The fact that he owned a private bar in the middle of the city was interesting enough. Yao listened carefully to every word Ivan said, but there was nothing to give a single hint to the manner of his business. And the entire time they spoke Yao could not tear his gaze from Ivan's. His smiling face seemed somehow innocent, yet his eyes made Yao shiver. There was something perilous about them.

"All this celebration outside. It is for the Chinese New Year?" asked Ivan, already nearly halfway through the vodka bottle. Yao was amazed at the way Ivan drank it like water. He did not seem the slightest bit drunk.

"Yes. The Year of the Tiger, actually." Yao was trying to sound cool and aloof but was afraid he wasn't pulling it off. It was hard to appear aloof in front of Ivan.

Ivan flashed a grin. "Are you a Tiger, Yao?"

Yao felt his heart jump again. "Um, no. Actually I'm a Dragon." Yao continued to drink his wine at a steady pace. The taste was growing on him, and he was sure if he drank enough he would feel confident at some point. "What is your sign?" He almost winced. _Smooth line, Yao..._

"A Dragon?" Ivan smiled as his eyes stared through Yao. "You look like Dragon, Yao. Fiery, and enchanting." If anyone else had said it Yao would have rolled his eyes and scoffed. When this charming yet commanding Russian stranger said it, Yao could barely breathe. "I do not know my - sign, you call it? I have never thought of this."

"Oh, well, I was given one of these charts earlier. Someone in the street was passing them out…" Yao reached into his pocket and pulled out the flimsy paper pamphlet he had picked up earlier that evening. As he spread it out on the bar, Yao noticed his hands were shaking. He tried to still them. "Now, let's see… what year were you born? You find that, and it will tell you what sign you are."

Ivan pulled the chart towards him and studied it intently. "Ah!" he cried finally. "It is my year!"

"You're a Tiger?"

_"Da."_

Yao looked down at the chart. The words on the page almost swam before his eyes, but a quick study told him Ivan was either twenty-four, or thirty-six, or forty-eight years old. Yao looked up at Ivan, at his black business suit and light scarf, his white-blond hair falling in those piercing violet eyes. It was almost impossible to say which was more likely. Yao decided it would be rude to ask.

"Tigers and Dragons… your chart thinks we make 'good match.'" Ivan carefully enunciated the last two words. "Is chart correct, do you think?" He looked up and fixed Yao with that penetrating stare.

"Ah... well… Tigers can be a little aggressive," Yao mumbled. "And intimidating," he added quietly around his glass.

"I think you believe this chart, yes? You are what they call 'superstitious.'"

Yao shrugged. He had always believed in astrology, despite having had to deal with his friends ridicule about the matter for years. "It has worked for thousands of years, hasn't it?"

Ivan nodded thoughtfully. "I understand this. We are very superstitious people in Russia. But is silliness, most of it. My sisters, they believe this sort of thing…" Ivan trailed off, his smile disappearing and his eyes unfocusing. Yao waited tensely until finally Ivan shook his head and drained his glass of vodka. He glanced back at the chart. "It says here that Dragon is… 'Free Spirit.' What does it mean?"

"Well, it means that we're, um, independent. We take risks. We live life to the fullest." Yao paused. That didn't sound like him at all, actually. "Well, we're supposed to. And we're honest and proud and energetic and we like to be alone. Oh, and we're lucky."

"And the Tiger?"

"The Tiger... You're strong, powerful, courageous and dominant." As soon as he said it, Yao blushed and looked away. Of all the Tiger traits, why had he focused on those ones? To make things worse, Toris walked past behind the bar at just that moment. Yao tried not to cringe and looked into his glass.

"Toris, are you thinking this 'Tiger' sounds like me?" Ivan waved the chart over the bar. Toris stopped, took it carefully, and quickly looked it over.

"Do you know, sir… I think this sounds exactly like you." Toris raised his eyes slowly and glared at Yao. "Exactly." Yao felt his breath catch in surprise at the cold look in Toris' eyes.

"Then chart is correct! What is your little animal, Toris?" asked Ivan cheerfully.

Toris dropped the chart onto the bar. "Excuse me, sir. I don't believe in this silly thing." He shot Yao one last glare before walking away. Yao watched him go in confusion. Why did he get the very strong feeling that Toris did not like him much? That was ridiculous, surely… they'd barely even met!

Yao tried to shake the thought away. He was definitely feeling the effects of the wine, but confidence wasn't one of them. Instead he felt dizzy and slightly overwhelmed. Part of his mind told him that he should not be in a place like this, with a man like Ivan, after drinking as much as he had. Another part reminded him that he was being exciting and unpredictable. And yet another part of Yao's mind, and this part was being pretty damn insistent, was screaming at him that this was the hottest, most intriguing man he had ever met. And most amazingly of all, he actually seemed interested in Yao. Yao felt trapped, knowing he should probably leave, but feeling intensely compelled to stay. Ivan was like a magnet.

Ivan folded up the chart and smiled down at Yao. "Well, I think chart must tell the truth. Because I am like Tiger and you are like Dragon, Yao."

Yao laughed dismissively. "Not according to my friends."

Ivan narrowed his eyes curiously. "The friends you were with celebrating tonight?"

"Yes. Well, they were celebrating. I didn't actually want to go out."

Ivan tilted his head inquisitively. "Why not?"

"Well… because I've been busy lately. Working." Yao looked at his half full glass. _Screw it._ He picked it up and drank deeply before continuing. "I'm in the last year of my chef apprenticeship and I really want to run my own restaurant. But that's impossible right now, seeing as I'm living in a tiny studio apartment and the most expensive asset I own is my DVD collection of '80s cartoons. So I work hard, but that's because I have to. It's difficult to get to the top of this business, if you want to be the best, which I do. And no one understands that." Yao slammed his glass down a little too forcefully. Before he knew it, it was full again. Damn, that bartender moved fast. Yao picked up the glass and drank. "And so they think I'm boring. They say I'm predictable."

Ivan raised an eyebrow. He seemed quite entertained as he listened to Yao's outburst. "Predictable?"

"Yes. You know, predictable, like I always do the same thing. That I'm uninteresting, that I'm no fun."

Ivan frowned disapprovingly. "They sound like not good friends, Yao."

Yao waved a hand as he took another sip. "Oh no, they are, really, they mean well, I just… well… it just annoys me, so when you asked me to have a drink, I thought, screw it, I'm going to be unpredictable." Yao wondered if he should have said that. "Not that, I mean, not that I didn't want to have a drink with you, only, maybe I shouldn't have um… had so many…" Yao looked into his glass. "This wine really is quite good, you know."

Ivan smirked a little. "I can see that you like it."

Yao nodded and drank again. "I don't have the best wine knowledge… that's Francis, he's French, and really good at all that."

"He is one of your friends who does not understand you?"

Yao's head was spinning too fast. "Yes. But he doesn't have to worry, he's head pastry chef at the restaurant so he already has his career set up - he doesn't even seem to need sleep, he lives on bread and wine and one night stands. Arthur's in college, he studies literature or something, which really just means that he gets drunk every night and sleeps until noon. And Alfred has a steady job as a firefighter and everyone loves him for it. So none of them understand what it's like to be completely unsure about your future and to have to try really hard to prove yourself while wondering if anyone even notices and I hate when they say I'm boring and I know they're my friends but sometimes I wonder if they even care and…" _and stop damn it you're babbling…_ "…aru."

Ivan tilted his head. "Aru? What is aru?"

_Damn._ "Um, er, it's just something I say when I'm nervous. Can't really help it. Like a nervous tick. Aru." Yao looked at the ground and closed his eyes briefly. Why did he always have to make an idiot of himself at times like these?

"Why are you nervous, little Dragon?"

Yao froze. He didn't know what to say. _Damn it!_ So much for being a confident Dragon. No wonder he never did well on dates. Was that even what this was? Yao went back to drinking and polished off his glass. He'd lost count of how many he'd had.

Fortunately the silence was broken as a back door slammed open and a teenage boy ran breathlessly into the room. "Mr Braginski, sir, I'm afraid…" The boy trailed off into silence when he caught sight of Yao. Yao looked away hastily. Toris appeared again behind the bar, frantically shaking his head behind Ivan's back.

"Raivis, why are you interrupting me when I am obviously in very important meeting?" Ivan smiled as he said it, but his eyes held a terrifying intensity. His entire voice and manner seemed to change.

Raivis actually appeared to be shaking. He looked almost as scared as Yao might be himself if he hadn't had quite so much to drink. Was this a new glass in front of him? Yao quickly picked it up and drank.

"I'm sorry Mr Braginski, sir, I never would have bothered you if it was not important… it's just…" Raivis glanced at Yao, then at Ivan, then back at Yao. He looked like a small animal caught in headlights.

_"Da?"_

Toris leant across the bar and spoke quietly. "Sir, perhaps this is a delicate matter that Raivis would prefer to discuss in private."

Before Ivan could respond, another young man came rushing through the door. He wore a business suit and clutched a laptop computer under his arm. He only paused for a moment to notice Yao before giving his full attention to Ivan. "Sir, this situation is more serious than we thought. An entire section of my hard drive has been accessed. I don't know exactly what they were after, but there were…" His eyes flicked briefly to Yao before continuing. "Client's personal files stored within the hacked area. _Incriminating_ files. This was a malicious attack against our operations."

Raivis spoke up tremulously. "It's... it's the third time this week, sir..."

"Exactly, sir. The _third._ And I think I can make a guess as to who…"

"Enough, Eduard," hissed Toris nervously.

"Hmm." Ivan drummed his fingers impatiently on the bar. Yao could almost feel the Russian's suppressed anger. "Eduard, you are supposed to be best computer engineer in this country. This is why I am paying you. If you are not being able to solve this problem, I will be finding someone who is. So go and solve it."

Eduard looked incredulous. "But sir, this is…"

"Just GO, EDUARD!" cried Toris. Yao jumped slightly at the outburst, and the room fell silent. Toris dropped his head and immediately started wiping the bar top, his face red.

"I think Toris is right," said Ivan. He turned on his chair and straightened his shoulders. "After all, I am sure you do not want me to get…" Ivan slowly tilted his head. "...upset."

Yao felt the atmosphere in the room change immediately. Toris froze mid-wipe; Raivis squeaked; Eduard choked back whatever protest he was about to make and nodded instead. He grabbed Raivis by the arm and rapidly guided him out the back door. At that point, Yao realised he was holding his breath, and released it slowly.

Now, _this_ was strange. Yao should probably be running screaming from here by now. All his senses told him to get out. But for some strange reason, he stayed. _That's because you're drunk,_ some part of his brain supplied. Well, maybe. But maybe it was also because, even though Ivan made Yao nervous and uncertain and, based on his employees reactions, a little scared… he also made him curious, excited, and, he had to admit, intensely aroused. Yao groaned inwardly. This went beyond unpredictability. This was stupid.

"I apologise for this unforgivable rudeness." Ivan turned back to Yao, smiling charmingly as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. "Please, I can offer another drink?"

Yao laughed shakily and reached to push his wine away. "I actually think that's the last thing I…" Yao trailed off, watching with a sinking stomach as he knocked the glass over and sent it crashing to the floor. The last of the wine spilt over his hand, and his entire body burned with embarrassment.

Ivan just laughed softly. "Lucky there was not much left_, da?_ However…" Ivan gently took one of Yao's hands. "This is very good wine."

Yao's eyes widened, and he could barely breathe as Ivan took his hand and brought it to his lips. Yao bit his lip to suppress an embarrassing moan when he felt Ivan's tongue trace lightly over his fingers, lapping up the spilt wine. The feather touch of Ivan's mouth sent tight, tingling shocks to every part of Yao's body. It felt exciting. It felt terrifying. Yao felt his heart beat faster and his head start to swim. Ivan looked up slowly, intensely, those keen violet eyes burning into Yao's. Suddenly everything was too dark and too fast.

"I… I think…" _I think I've made a fool of myself. I think I've drunk far too much far too quickly. I think I'm done being unpredictable._ Yao tried to fight the waves of darkness rushing through his head, but the room kept spinning around him. "I think I'm going to…" The last thing Yao felt was strong arms surround him.

* * *

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

A faint ringing reverberated through the corners of Yao's mind, an insistent light creeping under his eyelids. When he finally fought his way to consciousness, Yao found himself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. Blinking the bleariness from his eyes, he slowly turned his head to take in the room around him - average size, with stark white walls and a small simple table beside the bed. Bright light and muffled noise from the street outside drifted through a sliding glass door bordered by red curtains. Yao pushed himself up with his hands, his head swimming in confusion. Then he was suddenly confronted with the sight of Ivan Braginski, the strangely hot, probably dangerous Russian stranger he'd met only hours earlier. The man leant on a table against the wall, his arms folded before him and that small, serene smile on his lips. It all came flooding back - sitting at the bar, drinking wine, passing out - and Yao suppressed the urge to dive under the bed. He was mortified.

"Oh. Hi."

"Good evening, little Dragon. You are feeling better after your sleep, yes?"

"Well…" Well, actually his head hurt and the overhead lamp was blinding him and he didn't know where he was and he felt more embarrassed than he could ever remember feeling in his entire life. "Yeah, a little." Yao ran a hand over his aching head. Drinking countless glasses of wine after a week of working late and barely eating probably wasn't the best idea. Still, he couldn't believe he'd passed out. He looked around again. "Where am I? How did I get here?"

"This is my room upstairs. I carried you here."

"You… carried me." Yao could feel his pulse racing beneath his skin. He wasn't sure if it was from indignation or something else, something he didn't think he could acknowledge right now…

"Of course." Ivan spoke as though this was all completely normal. An anxious knot started to grow in Yao's stomach.

"You carried me, unconscious, to a room above your private bar."

Ivan smiled cheerfully. "Yes."

Yao furrowed his brows in confusion. "That's really a bit, er… a bit weird, you know."

Ivan tilted his head slightly. "Is it?"

Yao was pretty sure he should feel even more nervous than he actually did. He surreptitiously looked for the exit. "Why… um… why do you have a room above your bar?"

Ivan's smile almost became a smirk. "Because sometimes business talks go late and is easier to sleep here."

"Oh." Yao felt slightly relieved, while at the same time acutely aware of how intensely Ivan was looking at him. It was strange, uncomfortable, and oddly exciting all at once.

Ivan studied Yao silently for a few seconds more before saying, "Someone named Alfred called you."

Yao turned and swung his legs off the bed, so fast the room spun around him. "What? What did he say?"

"He asked where you were," Ivan answered plainly.

"Well, what did you tell him?" Yao prompted.

"That you are unconscious in my bed."

Yao's mouth fell open and his stomach fell to his feet. "Oh, shit."

"This was wrong?" Ivan looked gleeful as he asked.

"Not if you want him to track me down by GPS and burst in here and…" Yao paused, looking the huge Russian up and down. Actually, for once Alfred was likely to come off worst in that situation. Yao shook that image out of his head and looked around frantically. "Where's my phone?" Ivan held up Yao's cell phone, smirked slightly, then tossed it to Yao. He fumbled to catch it and quickly dialled Alfred.

Alfred answered after one ring. "Listen here, commie, if you've done anything to Yao I'm gonna knock out your teeth and shove 'em up your…"

"Alfred, it's me."

Alfred's angry tone changed to relief. "Yao! Where are you, I'll be there in five minutes!"

"Calm down, everything's…"

"Did he slip you a roofie?"

Yao rolled his eyes. "No, I just had a bit too much to drink. I'm at a bar on the corner of the main road, down that little alley by the sushi place. But don't…"

"I am on my way to rescue you, don't worry!"

Yao put a hand to his head. "I do not need _rescuing_, Alfred." He mouthed an apology to Ivan, who stood watching with a sort of intrigued amusement.

"Did he do anything else to you? I'll kick his ass."

Yao couldn't help but laugh. "You're annoyingly cute when you're all protective, Alfred." Ivan raised an eyebrow at that.

"How many times do I have to tell you to carry a can of mace!"

There came the sounds of a short scuffle on the other side of the phone, some particularly inventive swearing, then a familiar French accent came over the line. "Yao."

Yao sighed wearily. "Francis."

"Is it true what they say of Russian men?"

"Huh? What about them?"

"You know, that they have enormous…"

"I'll call you back." Yao quickly ended the call, shot an apologetic look at Ivan, then glanced around the room uncertainly. Now _this_ was a situation he really didn't know the etiquette for.

"He has interesting vocabulary, that American," said Ivan. He still leant easily against the table, completely at ease. His eyes had not moved from Yao once.

Yao laughed nervously. "Yeah, sorry. He's a little, well, loud… and kind of has a hero complex. I'm certain he thinks I'm completely helpless."

Ivan seemed to find that amusing. "He is not your boyfriend?"

"Oh, no! We did go on a date a few years ago." Yao started babbling as he became increasingly jumpy. He also felt a bit drunk still, which probably wasn't helping matters. "But then Arthur found out about it, and he punched Alfred on the after-school bus, and it turned out that Alfred only did it to make Arthur jealous, and I got really angry and wouldn't speak to either of them for a month. Uh, we were fifteen. Aru." _Damn._

Ivan regarded Yao curiously, his intense violet eyes piercing through the short distance between them. "You are still nervous, Dragon?"

Yao faltered, completely unsure what to say. That unwavering gaze kept trapping him like a deer in headlights. How was the look in Ivan's eyes so different from the smile on his lips? And why did he keep calling Yao _Dragon_? "I…my name isn't…" Yao trailed off. He was too confused to even form a proper sentence. And still the words kept tumbling out... "I'm sorry, I'm not exactly used to waking up in stranger's beds, and I'm sorry that I drank all your wine and that my friend threatened you, but look I'll be honest, I suppose I am still nervous because this is a very odd situation and…" A sudden loud bang filled the room and Yao jumped. "What was that?"

Ivan's eyes flashed as he unexpectedly leapt forward, breaking into a grin. "Fireworks!"

Yao almost gasped in surprise as Ivan's large hand grasped his and pulled him easily to his feet. Ivan led him across the room to the long glass doors, throwing them open and stepping out onto a small, railed balcony. Yao felt the ground start to spin. But then Ivan's arms surrounded him from behind and, without even knowing why, Yao leant back gratefully. It took him a few seconds to comprehend that Ivan was holding him. His heart hammered in his chest, his mind racing to keep up with this mad turn of events. The air was cooler out here; the loud, busy street below still packed with shouting people and colourful revelry. The crack of fireworks again burst through the air, filling the sky overhead with brilliant explosions of red and gold. Yao was actually surprised by the good view from this second story balcony.

"They are lovely, _da_?" The warm touch of Ivan's breath on his ear sent shivers down Yao's neck.

"Yes," Yao whispered back. "Lovely." Ivan's fingers entwined with his, and Yao hoped his rapid pulse could not be felt between their hands. Maybe it was the alcohol, but everything still seemed to be going so fast. He had not been on many dates, and most of them hadn't gone very well, but Yao was fairly sure this whole evening had been fairly unusual. It felt a little frightening, sure… frightening, but exhilarating.

"Happy New Year, Dragon." Ivan ran his other hand softly up Yao's throat and over his cheek, gently turning his head back. His fingers seemed to burn where they touched. They finally reached into his hair and, just as Yao realised what was happening, Ivan's lips were against his, warm and strong. Yao's eyes fluttered shut and he breathed in sharply.

Yao had only been kissed twice. Once by his Korean cousin Yong Soo, who was strangely fascinated by Yao and liked to cause a scene at family gatherings. Once by Francis, at a drunken New Year's Eve two years ago, but the Frenchman hadn't gotten far before Alfred punched him. Both had been unwanted and incredibly awkward. Neither had felt anything like this.

Because when Ivan's lips met his, Yao forgot to feel embarrassed. He forgot to feel nervous. Yao forgot about everything but this one moment, this mad, dizzying, knee-weakening moment, on this fire-lit balcony, with Ivan's lips against his and Ivan's arms around him. This was what Yao had hoped for since he first realised he was gay; this was what Yao dreamt of from the first moment he knew he wanted a man to kiss him. This was a gorgeous, strong, intriguing man, softly parting his lips, touching his tongue and firing through his veins, holding him close and sending shockwaves across his skin. This was… _incredible…_ Right when Yao thought he might just pass out again, Ivan gently pulled away and placed a light kiss on Yao's forehead. Yao opened his eyes dazedly and focused on breathing deeply. The whole thing was over almost before he had grasped what was happening.

"Here." Ivan reached into his pocket then placed something into Yao's hand. "I think you dropped this."

Yao blinked down at the tiny fat, brown Buddha statue resting in his palm. It must have dropped from his pocket when he had taken out the zodiac chart in the bar. "Oh! Thank you. I would have been upset if I'd lost it. Francis gave it to me tonight. It's supposed to bring me luck."

Ivan squeezed Yao's hand. "Is it working?"

Yao paused, ran his thumb over the figurine, then looked back up into Ivan's intense gaze. His heart was still racing, but he felt strangely calmer now. "I suppose we'll see."

Ivan laughed softly. "Then you should keep it always close, little Dragon."

Another firework burst overhead. Yao had barely realised they'd been exploding the whole time. With Ivan's arms around his waist, they watched the rest of the fireworks in silence; the cool air gusting softly around them, the soft touch of Ivan's scarf warm against Yao's cheek. How incredibly odd, that he had complained so bitterly about being dragged out of the house, when only hours later the night had turned so surprisingly wonderful. Finally, the skies fell silent; reluctantly, Yao managed to pull away. "Thank you, Ivan. That was… nice." Yao immediately winced and tried to hide it. _Nice?_ But Ivan only looked kindly amused, so Yao continued quickly. "I'd better go meet my friends, though. Alfred is probably contacting the police by now." Ivan's eyes flashed strangely at that, and Yao quickly added, "Um, not really…"

Ivan just nodded. He silently took Yao's hand and led him back through the white room, into a narrow hallway. When they reached the stairs, Ivan put his arm around Yao's waist. A burning ache shot through Yao at the touch, yet he simply raised his eyebrows. Ivan smiled back. "I do not want you to fall."

Yao almost laughed. How utterly ridiculous. And yet… _It might be a bit late for that_... Yao let himself lean into Ivan as they descended the stairs. Well, he was still a little dizzy, after all. The light grew dimmer as they entered the room downstairs, and Yao glanced over at Toris as they passed the bar. The look the bartender threw Yao almost made him shiver. It was a combination of anger, frustration… and sadness. Yao quickly looked away.

"You will find your friends?" asked Ivan as they reached the door of the bar, stepping onto the street outside.

Yao nodded, already disappointed that this brief, unusual, world-changing encounter was drawing to an end. "Yes. They won't be far away."

Ivan nodded, looked up at the sky, took a deep breath, then slowly removed his scarf. Yao noticed that his throat was still covered by a pale cloth behind his collar. Ivan smiled, and gently wrapped the scarf around Yao's neck and shoulders. "Is cold tonight."

"Oh." Yao touched the warm cloth. "Thank you." Somehow he sensed this was a big gesture.

"I am only lending it." Ivan looked intently into Yao's eyes. Once again, Yao felt immobilised. "Next time we meet you will give it back."

Yao nodded. He did not think to ask when they would meet next. Strangely, he just felt sure that they would. "Of course."

Ivan smiled, leant down, and kissed Yao on the cheek. Yao felt the touch fire through his entire body. "Good night, little Dragon."

Then he was gone. Yao ran his hands over the scarf and held it to his face, breathing deeply. It was soft, and smelt like Ivan; like that kiss on the balcony - spicy, warm and smooth, with a hint of smoke and leather. Yao felt like his world had been turned upside down. He couldn't quite believe the events of the evening. This sort of thing did not happen to someone like him. It was almost surreal, and he kept expecting to wake up, in his own bed this time. His attempt at being unpredictable had certainly worked out rather intriguingly.

Yao had a very strong suspicion that Ivan was dangerous. Somehow it was obvious. However, he couldn't deny the blinding, magnetic attraction the Russian held. Yao could not deny the flush of his cheeks, or the quickness of his breath. And he certainly couldn't deny the uncomfortable situation occurring south of his belt.

"Yao!"

Yao swore to himself, bit his lip as hard as he could, and reluctantly turned to find Arthur, Alfred and Francis pressing through the crowd. He sighed as he went to meet them. How was he supposed to explain all this…

* * *

_To be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Yao was harshly woken by what sounded like a buzzsaw drilling into his head. The first thing he realised, with a small wave of relief, was that he was in his own bed. The next was that he was very, very hungover. The third thing Yao realised was that the buzzsaw was, in fact, his cell phone, and it had been ringing insistently for around five minutes now. Groaning huffily, he emerged from under a pile of pillows, reached for the offending phone, and squinted at it through bleary eyes. The words leapt off the screen: **Incoming Call… IVAN**. Yao was suddenly very wide awake. His chest fluttered, his stomach flipped, and he answered hurriedly. "Uh… hello?"

"Good morning, little Dragon!" That accent and cheery tone were unmistakable. After only one night, Yao was surprised by how intensely the mere sound of Ivan's voice affected him. His heart pounded and his breath stuttered… but he still felt his eyebrows draw together in confusion.

"Um… I don't remember adding your number to my phone."

"I took liberty of doing this last night when you were sleeping." Ivan sounded like he was about to laugh.

"You… oh." Yao dragged himself upright against the pillows. The room immediately spun around him. "Well, as long as that's the only liberty you took."

"I am sorry?"

Yao put his hand over the receiver, swore softly, then placed the phone back to his ear. "Nothing!"

"Silly Yao! I will be taking you out tomorrow afternoon."

Yao nearly fell out of bed. "Taking… wha… you will?" He felt something around his neck and pulled at it in confusion. The warm scent of leather and spice surrounded him - he'd fallen asleep in Ivan's scarf.

"_Da_, I will."

"Why? I mean… I have to work."

"No, you do not." Ivan's accent sounded even stronger on the phone. It sent strange, tingling shivers down Yao's spine. "I will pick you up at three."

"I… um… okay." The words were out before Yao was sure he meant to say them.

"I will see you then, Dragon!"

The line went dead. Yao sat still for a moment, holding the silent phone against his ear, unsure what he had just agreed to. Had he just been asked on a… a _date?_ Not that 'asked' was really the right word for it. He'd basically just been _ordered_ on a date. Yao wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. He drummed his fingers against the phone for a second, finally hung up, then realised that he hadn't given Ivan his address. He was just debating whether or not to ring the Russian back when his phone rang again. **Incoming Call… ALFRED.** Yao groaned. "Hello?"

"Yao!" Alfred shouted down the phone. "You gotta come downstairs now and cook me pancakes! Arthur tried but he's a shitty cook and he burnt them and…"

"You wanker!" Arthur yelled in the background. "Just see if I ever cook for you again!"

"Oh Lord, I pray for the day!" Alfred cried, followed by a loud bang and an incoherent scream.

Yao paused briefly. He was quite used to Alfred's demands for food, but he was a little concerned about seeing his friends this morning. He hadn't really known what to say to them last night. Alfred seemed to think Ivan was some sort of Russian spy, Francis was fixated on Yao's future chances of sleeping with the man, and Arthur had been too drunk to really participate in the conversation. But judging by the shrieks on the other end of the phone, Yao wasn't going to get any peace until he cooked his demanding friends their blasted breakfast. He sighed wearily. "I'm coming down now. Please stop shouting." He hung up again, noticing as he did that the time on his phone read nearly midday. Yao had to blink at the clock display a few times. He really must have drunk more than he thought… he never slept that long.

The night before was like a blur in his memory. Of course, certain things stood out more than others. Things like Ivan grasping his hand; touching his fingers with his tongue; kissing him on a balcony… Yao felt very warm as he kicked his clothes aside on his messy floor and headed for his small dresser. Its surface was covered in socks and comic books and cooking magazine clippings, while a Hello Kitty picture and a horoscope chart were taped to the little mirror. Yao inspected his reflection carefully. He wasn't too bad-looking, he supposed, apart from the dark circles - he had good skin, unusually changeable brown eyes, and he'd always been quite proud of his hair. But he still couldn't quite see what had made a man like Ivan call him beautiful. He certainly couldn't see anything extraordinary about himself. He felt confused about it all, a little embarrassed - and secretly, quietly, a bit thrilled.

Yao breathed out heavily, tried to ignore his pounding headache, and headed for the bathroom to get ready. His little apartment only really consisted of three rooms. It was on the second floor of a narrow three story converted townhouse, while the larger apartment on the ground floor belonged to Arthur and Alfred. Francis lived in the apartment on the top floor, and was not the easiest neighbour to deal with, what with him bringing home a steady stream of one nighters at ungodly hours and constantly having his two very loud, possibly insane best friends over. But he was also fun, loyal, and had secured Yao a great apprenticeship at the restaurant where he worked. Besides, the noise from Francis' place wasn't much worse than the alternating screaming arguments and screaming sex sounds that often drifted up from the apartment below.

Yao knocked on Arthur and Alfred's door, received no answer, and opened it hesitantly. He wasn't surprised by the scene he walked into. The kitchen walls were splattered with batter, the benches covered with dirty dishes. Arthur stood in the archway to the living room, throwing pancakes and verbal abuse at Alfred, who hid behind the kitchen island defending himself with a frying pan. Yao rolled his eyes. Just a regular day in the Kirkland-Jones residence.

"Morning, Yao!" Alfred grinned from behind his pan. He didn't seem too troubled by Arthur's tirade.

"Afternoon, more like." Yao fumbled to catch a flying pancake and inspected it closely. It had the consistency of a slightly soggy piece of wood. For politeness sake, he bit the corner cautiously. It tasted about the same. "I don't know what you're talking about, these pancakes are fine," he lied.

"Of course they're bloody fine!" Arthur shouted, his face twisted with rage. "You ungrateful little tosser!" He narrowly missed Alfred's head with the last pancake, then dropped the empty plate onto the bench. "Good morning, Yao." Yao just waved as Arthur turned and flopped onto the living room couch, his back to the kitchen and his face in a book. Yao snatched the frying pan from Alfred's hand, placed it on the stove, and got to work making pancake batter with the ingredients left on the bench.

Alfred immediately raced to Arthur and leant over the back of the couch. "Arthur, sweetheart, don't be mad. You know I love you, even if you can't cook."

"Sod off, I'm studying." But Arthur's voice didn't sound as angry as before.

Alfred laughed, ruffled Arthur's hair, then fell into a stool by the kitchen counter. He leant his chin on his hand and studied Yao for a moment as he worked. "You look like hell," he said finally.

Yao looked up and glared. "Thank you. I feel like hell. Now I remember why I don't drink."

Alfred scoffed loudly. "You need reminding? Between you passing out, Francis stripping off, and Arthur trying to fight anyone in a five mile radius, drinking with you guys is like an extreme sport."

Arthur flipped him off over the back of the couch. Yao just continued stirring the batter in silence. Silence would be best. Surely it wasn't a good idea to mention this date to Alfred. But after only a few seconds, Yao couldn't hold it in anymore. "Ivan called me this morning."

Alfred straightened up incredulously. "You gave that Russian your number?"

"No…" Yao paused his stirring. "No, I didn't." That was a little odd. But then, he'd probably just taken the number from Yao's phone… except that Yao didn't keep his number in his phone… "Huh." Yao shrugged. "Pass me the milk, will you?"

"I told you! He's a spy!" Alfred hurled the milk bottle across the counter. Yao barely managed to catch it. "You need to cut all contact immediately or before you know it you'll be defecting to the Soviet Union!"

Yao gritted his teeth. Yep – silence would have been best. "Ivan is not a spy. And there is no Soviet Union. This isn't the nineteen-fifties, Alfred."

Alfred did not look convinced. "What did he call you for, then?"

Yao looked back into the bowl of batter and tried to keep a stupid grin from his face. "To ask me out tomorrow."

Alfred's eyebrows shot up and Arthur twisted on the couch. They both spoke as one, their voices astonished. "You've got a _date?"_

Yao's grin fell immediately. Instead, he frowned huffily. "Don't sound so surprised. He's picking me up at three."

"I'd be very suspicious if I were you," said Arthur. "As Jean-Paul Sartre said, _'Three o'clock is either too late or too early for anything you want to do.'"_

Yao ignored him and opened the cupboard to get the sugar. Why was he even cooking breakfast for these people?

Alfred snorted. "Yeah, well I think Jean-Paul must've been a pretty boring guy, because I can think of plenty of things to do at three o'clock. None of which involve going on a date with a Russian spy."

"He is not a spy!" Yao slammed the cupboard door loudly. Was it too much to ask for a bit of support? Yao had enough reasons to be nervous without his friends making it worse. Thankfully Arthur discreetly turned back to his book. Alfred, however, did not take the hint.

"Please tell me you didn't say yes." Alfred clenched his fists anxiously, his eyes wide.

Yao just shrugged. He added a little sugar to the bowl and stirred it in with more force than necessary.

Alfred closed his eyes, let out an exaggerated sigh, and flopped forward onto the counter. "You said yes," he groaned.

Yao took the opportunity to flick a bit of the batter into Alfred's hair. "Yes, Alfred, I said yes. Look, I like this guy. He's... nice. Besides, when was the last time someone asked me out?" Yao paused. "Wait, don't answer that."

Alfred lifted himself up and rested his chin on his hand. "Yao, be careful. Spy or not, this guy's gotta be a bit dodgy. I mean, he's a huge Russian who wears a trench coat!"

Yao tried to look insulted. There was a tiny part of himself which agreed that yes, Ivan did seem dangerous. But Yao's struggling sense of pride was doing a really good job of ignoring that part. "So your only problem here is Ivan's nationality, his size, and his dress sense? That is incredibly judgmental, Alfred. You are completely overreacting. Ivan is just a businessman."

Alfred looked horrified. "A middle-aged businessman, Yao? Next thing you know he'll be getting you to dress like a Japanese schoolgirl!"

Yao stared blankly for a few moments. "Alfred, I… don't even know if you're being racist anymore."

Alfred ignored him. "Did he say what business he was in?"

"I didn't ask," Yao lied. "But I suppose I can find out tomorrow, can't I?" Yao poured the batter into the hot frying pan. He'd given up asking himself why he was still cooking Alfred's breakfast.

"Fine," Alfred sighed resignedly. Then he leant forward and continued earnestly, "But if anything feels weird, you call me immediately, okay?"

Yao paused briefly. He supposed that, for all Alfred's ignorant offensiveness, he really was just trying to look out for Yao. It was slightly insulting, yet kind of sweet… in a sick sort of way.

"And I really can get you that can of mace, you know."

Yao clenched his fist around the frypan handle. But still insulting. "Okay, sure, and if that doesn't work I'll just hit him with my handbag," he replied sarcastically.

"Men carry mace!" Alfred cried indignantly. "It's totally manly! Arthur carried it all the time until he got banned after spraying his literature professor!"

Arthur snorted, turning a page of his book and muttering, "That'll teach him for calling a speech on embroidery in the time of Jane Austen 'tedious and uninspired.'"

Alfred put his hand to his forehead. "You're not exactly proving my point, sweetheart."

Yao shook his head in frustration. "Look, Alfred, you're the one who told me I should be less predictable and boring. Now you're getting all insane and irritating when I do just that. Ivan has been nothing but a perfect gentleman." _Well, that was true, after all…_ "And may I also remind you that I am perfectly capable of looking after myself."

Alfred looked infuriatingly doubtful. "But…"

"Alfred!" Arthur snapped. "That's enough. Let Yao be happy about his date before he fucks it up."

Yao just sighed. In the end, he hadn't really expected his friends to react any other way.

.

That afternoon, like always, Yao managed to drag himself into work despite the hangover. Sure, he loved cooking, but sometimes Yao felt like he lived his entire life in the restaurant where he worked. _Fusion _was a few streets away from his apartment, in the busiest part of town; it was only small, but very popular, and incredibly busy. Yao knew that was because it served the best modern cuisine around, and had the best international chefs in the city. Yao hurried through the quiet front dining area, past deep red walls and stark black tables, waving half-heartedly at the wait staff as he went. Most barely acknowledged him, but Yao was used to that by now.

"Yao!" Francis cried cheerfully as Yao entered the small, sparkling-steel kitchen. He was the only other chef working at this time of day, and appeared to be dealing with about six meals at once. He placed a tray in the oven, tossed his hair from his forehead, and twisted his face distastefully. "_Mon Dieu, _you look like hell."

"So everyone keeps telling me," muttered Yao, throwing his bag in the corner and pulling on an apron. "It's called a hangover. I'll survive."

"What are you doing here anyway? I thought you had the day off."

_A day off… what's that? _"I'm filling in for Feliciano for a few hours. He's going to be late."

Francis scoffed and slammed the oven door shut. "You need to stop covering that lazy Italian's arse. Tell him to shove it next time."

Yao shrugged as he turned on the tap to wash his hands. "I don't mind." That wasn't entirely true. Although their first year apprentice spent most of his time slacking off, turning up late, and asking Yao to cover for him, Feliciano was also best friends with Yao's brother Kiku and almost like a brother himself. No one could stay mad at Feli for long.

Francis shook his head. "If that little slacker didn't make the best pasta in the city he would have been fired months ago." Yao scoffed at that. Francis doted on Feliciano worse than anyone. And besides, as long as Yao had known Feliciano there had been the implicit and unspoken knowledge that his Italian family were involved in dealings that were… less than legal. It guaranteed great protection for the restaurant, as well as the understanding that Feliciano was pretty much able to get away with anything he wanted.

"Actually, Francis, speaking of filling in…" Yao turned, leant back against the bench, and shot Francis his best pleading look. If anyone was going to be happy for him, it would be the perverted Frenchman.

"Hmm?" Francis barely noticed, absently reaching up to take a heavy mixing bowl from the cupboard.

Yao continued determinedly. He'd gotten this far, and he was going on this date with Ivan, no matter what it took. "I need you to cover my shift tomorrow."

_That_ got Francis' attention. He swiftly spun around and stared at Yao warily. "Cover? Why?" Yao didn't blame Francis for being suspicious. Yao had never asked anyone to cover for him.

"Okay, don't make a big deal or anything, but…" Yao took a deep breath and braced himself for Francis' reaction. "I'm going somewhere with Ivan."

"The _Russian_?" Francis practically shrieked in excitement and immediately dropped the bowl on his foot. "_Ah la vache!_" he cried, hopping in pain. "I mean, Yao! That's fantastic! Good for you! _Merde_ that hurt…"

Yao narrowed his eyes. _Why is everyone so surprised by a simple date…_ Still, it was a better reaction than Alfred's. "I _said_ don't make a big deal of it." He bent down to pick up the bowl.

"This _is _a big deal!" Francis was almost breathless, whether from excitement or pain Yao could not tell. He rubbed his foot as he continued. "The lucky Buddha I bought you must be working… this must be the first time you've ever made it to a second date!"

Yao promptly dropped the bowl again. This time Francis hopped out of the way.

"Oh _mon cher,_ I didn't mean it like that..."

"So, you can work my shift?" Yao felt odd asking for the day off for no reason other than that he had a date. Maybe the little Buddha _was _working… he was certainly being more unpredictable than ever before.

Francis just seemed delighted. "Are you serious? This is the biggest occasion of the year! I will drag Feliciano in here by his ridiculous hair curl and make him work your shift. Oh Yao! A Russian! You are one lucky boy, _non?_" Francis winked. Yao just smiled politely and turned away. Francis really worried him sometimes.

The afternoon passed quickly enough, until before Yao knew it Feliciano was bouncing into the kitchen, grinning madly and carrying an enormous bunch of yellow sunflowers. "_Buona sera!_" he cried. "Yao you are soooo awesome! Thank you a million times for being the best big brother in the whole world! Don't tell Lovino I said that though, but it's true, because he's always cranky and nasty to Ludwig and he doesn't help me out at work like you do and hello Francis! Your hair is looking fabulous today! Did you try that new shampoo I told you about? Not that you need it your hair always looks fabulous and oh, Yao, these are for you." Feliciano thrust the bright flowers at Yao.

"Don't think you can get out of trouble with flattery, Feli," Francis muttered, even as he flicked his hair vainly.

"Oh, um, thanks Feliciano." Yao took the flowers bewilderedly. "A thank you present?" The little Italian's greetings always left him a little dazed.

"No, someone was dropping them off for you out front so I said I'd take them." Feliciano bounced to the cupboard to fetch his apron.

"Someone was dropping them off?" Yao's heart leapt to his throat. Could Ivan have delivered them? Could he still be here? "What did they look like?"

"Some little kid." Feliciano wrinkled his nose and giggled. "He looked far too young for you, Yao."

Ah. Yao felt a little disappointed – it must have been Raivis who delivered the flowers. He tried to appear indifferent. "Don't be absurd." Yao searched the flowers for a note, eventually finding one lost somewhere in the middle of the huge bunch. He practically tore it open, devouring the words as Francis and Feliciano both hung over his shoulders.

_Dear Little Dragon,  
I hope you are not too unwell feeling today. Russian wine is very strong! I enjoyed talking with you last night and I look forward to see you tomorrow afternoon.  
Yours, Ivan. :)_

Yao laughed at the little smiley face. How appropriate. He read the words over and over… _look forward to see you tomorrow afternoon…_ Yao could not keep from smiling himself. That short sentence alone was enough to flood Yao's mind with images from last night - Ivan's unfathomable smile; his consuming presence. Yao's chest ached to see the strange Russian again, to experience that vivid intensity he had felt while with him.

"Ooh, Yao, what's going on? Do you have a date?" asked Feliciano in a singsong voice. "Is he cute?"

Francis placed a hand to his chest and sighed dramatically. "So cute, Feli. Your type, actually - big, tall, blonde..."

Feliciano clapped his hands together and actually squealed. Yao's chest felt like it was filling with air. _This_ reaction he preferred. But suddenly his grin faded. He looked at the flowers, glanced towards the front door, then looked up at Francis with furrowed eyebrows. "But... how did Ivan find out where I work?"

Francis raised an eyebrow, but he didn't seem too concerned. "You didn't tell him?"

Yao tried to remember. The end of his conversation with Ivan was something of a blur. "I don't think so…" _Okay, slightly weird..._ Yao shrugged off the uneasy feeling. He probably _had_ mentioned it somewhere along the way. "Look, do me a favour. Please don't mention the flowers to Alfred."

Francis winced sympathetically. "Playing the hero again, is he?"

Yao rolled his eyes. "You have no idea."

Francis placed a finger to his lips. "Not a word." Then he snatched the note from Yao's hand and read it over again. "_Little Dragon_, hmm?"

Yao could feel his cheeks burning. "Uh… yeah. He seems to call me that."

Francis looked impressed. "This Russian may be quite serious about you, _mon cher_."

Feliciano nodded in agreement. "That's true, you know, because you only give flowers to someone you like, so he must like you, and he wrote you a note too, and yay, Yao!" Feliciano threw an arm around Yao's shoulder and squeezed far too tightly. "I can't believe you actually have a _date_!"

Yao's stomach turned in fluttering knots. He ignored the tiny worry in the back of his mind. Everyone he knew seemed amazed that he had a date. And yeah, okay, that was kind of amazing – but what was more amazing was that Yao was actually really, really excited about it. Yao just smiled superiorly at Feliciano and placed the sunflowers in a glass by the sink. "Believe it, Feli," he said simply. "I have a date."

* * *

_To be continued…_


End file.
